


Stupid Should Hurt

by twelvepercentofaplan



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Baby Groot, Gen, Humor, I Am Groot, Post-Movie(s), Restaurants, Stupid Should Hurt, Team as Family, They're pretty dysfunctional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/pseuds/twelvepercentofaplan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts off as a snide comment from one of them, but it spreads throughout the Milano like a virus. And it soon becomes a ritual that when someone screws up based purely off of their not-so-wise impulses, someone gives them a grin and says, "Stupid should hurt."</p><p>Four times one of 'em was stupid, and the one time they were all stupid together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid Should Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> To this day, I'll never know where the fuck I heard the quote, "Stupid should hurt." Pretty sure I read it somewhere years ago, but I can't place where it came from or why it stuck with me.
> 
> I've been workin' on this for some time now and I'm so glad I finally got it finished. Stupidity's abound, obviously, and it's hilarious.

“Look Quill,” the sharp voice from the tiny, fuzzy form kneeling on the glossy floor calls, “ya can trust me enough to actually work on these even we’ve known each other a week.” A cackle of a laugh follows. “I really didn’t do nothin’ to ‘em that’s gonna end up with ya dead at the end of usin’ ‘em. Promise.”

Peter Quill, alias Star-Lord, hovers over Rocket, the miniature raccoon being who sits on his knees, at an almost towering height. Well, in comparison to Rocket, who clocks in at around two and a half to three feet tall, Quill looks like a giant. Peter’s only around six or so feet tall but compared to the raccoon with the smart-mouth, he’s a mountain. He bites his lip nervously, unsure of whether or not Rocket’s lying or completely serious. His happy-go-lucky tone’s not something Peter’s used to enough to tell if it’s a cold lie or a serious response.

The colossus of a human (by comparison) gives a narrow look to his newly found companion dressed in blue fight clothes, working consistently with a tool in his hand. “It’s not that I think you’re about to sabotage me or something. I just don’t know what **_level_** of mechanical genius you are.”

“But ya admit I’m a genius?” Rocket says with a snicker. “Psh. Smartest guy around, Quill. Ya should know that by now.”

“It’s been a week, Rocket. Me and you and these other guys have been together for a week.”

“A week and a **_day_** ,” Rocket corrects snidely.

“Whatever. You get what I-”

“Shuddup.” Rocket’s suddenly up on his feet with both of the exhaust-smelling jets in either hand. “I know they got bashed up pretty good when we, uh… took that fall.” A beat of silence before the raccoon’s back at talking at rapping speeds. “But I think I got ‘em all sorted out fine and dandy.”  
Peter holds out one of his feet, balancing haphazardly on one foot as he questions, “You think so?”

“Should be good,” Rocket affirms as he clamps the metal piece onto the outer side of Quill’s left boot and gives a twist. “Gave ‘em a better kick than what they’d had before. Fuel should give ya double the height with the replacement exhaust units I found. Old ones were so bent outta shape I didn’t think there was a point in tryin’ to fix ‘em.”

“Lemme see that one,” Peter gives a nod to the second attachment in Rocket’s greasy hands. He inspects it closely after a sloppy toss on Rocket’s end nearly smacks him in the forehead. “Huh. You cleaned ‘em out?”

“Not outta sympathy,” Rocket says while rising to his feet and wiping his hands on his thighs. “Had to do it to get to the injectors. Anyways, I wouldn’t recommend usin’ ‘em in places with especially low ceilings.” Rocket gives his closest impression of a grin that one can give with a set of sharp canines and a snout as he looks up at the ceiling. “Could hurt yourself.”

“Duh,” Peter responds. “Of course not.” There is a silence between the two before Peter gives a quick survey around the room. “Let’s test ‘em out anyways.”

Rocket gestures around the room as he says, “Uh, Quill? Low ceiling?”

“But it’s a test run,” Peter chides with a grin as he twists the other attachment to his other boot. “Better to just get it over with, right?”

“Whatever ya wanna do, man. Your funeral, not mine.”

A moment later, the jet attachments burst to life. It takes a moment for Peter to gain balance, the sudden lift from Rocket’s much needed upgrades unfamiliar but steady enough that he doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“Gotta say,” Quill admits as he surveys the flames shooting out at his ankles, “they really kick ass. Thanks.”

Rocket waves his hand dismissively. “Eh, not a big-uh, Quill?”

Maybe Peter didn’t realize that he was getting excessively closer to the ceiling with every second that passed. That wouldn’t be a problem if, well… the left attachment hadn’t started to whine so loudly.

It suddenly burst upward, not really exploding, but taking Quill with it straight to the ceiling of the Milano. The glorious sound of a fully grown Terran man tumbling around like he was a metal sphere in a pinball machine riddled the entire common room floor. Quill’s yelling out, screaming “ROCKET! ROCKET!” as he’s slid across the floor this way and that way. Where the **_fuck_** was that idiot of a raccoon?

When the attachment finally whines to a halt, Peter inhales deeply, and huffs out, exhausted from the ten second period of panic, “Rocket? What… even… happened?”

Rocket, who took refuge underneath of the elongated table with six chairs where Groot’s pot sits (it’s not there now, Peter notices), sticks his head out from behind a chair. “Quill?”

Peter hesitates before he answers painfully. “What…?”

Rocket emerges with the pot in question in his hands, the flora colossus sleeping soundly despite the symphony of clashing, banging, and whining from Peter’s end.

The raccoon kneels down on Quill’s level, practically nose-to-nose, and mutters the quote that soon became a burden to this ship.

“Ya wanna know what happened? Ya got stupid. And it’s like I always said to Groot when he does somethin' dumb-” Rocket presses a finger against Quill’s forehead. “Stupid should hurt.” The raccoon gives a sharp grin and flicks Quill in the same spot before he strides away with Groot’s pot in hand.

Stupid **_always_** hurts. Always has, always will, especially when you're thrown about the Milano floor by a jet attachment.

* * *

 

Their first "mission" after their little event back on Xandar wasn’t one hundred percent conventional nor was it something any of them would’ve needed to partake in anyways. Along with their newly rebuilt ship that was salvaged out of the former Milano, they were given a massive payment that would last the five of them quite a long time. Quill’d proposed a vacation even though this money could be used to make the ship more home-y, although no one could really settle on a place. And when they did find a spot that seemed suitable, it turns out one of them (Gamora was second to Rocket with this category) was banned from even coming one hundred feet within the planet’s atmosphere.

This first mission actually put Rocket back on the blacklist for another planet. Drax, too. Drax’s first, Rocket’s **_fifteenth_**.

“This is ridiculous,” Gamora, hair pulled up and wearing loose, relaxed-for-once clothing, tells Peter as she pours a watering can into the rim of Groot’s pot carefully.

“Let ‘em have their fun, Gamora,” Peter says, who’s swiping through channels on the holo-screen before settling on the channel where a purple skinned woman sings a dramatic love ballad in a language Quill can’t place. “You can’t expect Rocket, of all the people on this ship, to not get antsy and wanna go off and do something in private.”

“There’s nothing private about a bounty, Quill,” Gamora says sharply.

“At least he’s bringing in another 4,000 units.” At least Peter’s looking on the bright side. More money means more material possessions.

“Nonetheless, it’s stupid.”

Groot wavers slightly before letting out a wide yawn and smiling up at Gamora.

“Sleep well?” Gamora asks, her mood shifted from frustrated to pleasant in the blink of an eye.

The tree nods with a wide grin and opens his mouth as if to say something. But the grin fades into a sad smile when nothing comes out, not even a squeak.

“Give it time, Groot,” Gamora encourages. “You can’t expect to be back to talking in the blink of-”

Suddenly, the sound of the entry hatch opening fills the ship and the three turn their heads in unison at the sound of loud, almost stomping steps.

Drax comes into view a second later with-

Okay, this is ridiculous. Hilarious, even. It’s painful for Rocket, since he did get himself into this mess, but it’s absolutely hilarious for the first time ever.

The raccoon is in Drax’s arms, stiff and unmoving. At first glance, it looks like a damn awful taxidermy job. But it’s Rocket, and he’s still breathing, but he’s as stiff as a board, almost frozen.

“It appears our friend was hit by an EMP,” Drax announces.

There’s a groan on Rocket’s end.

Groot frowns at that, and Gamora reacts with an immediate, “What? How?”

“Rocket didn’t wish to inform me this bounty was for a gang leader. As usual, I slew the majority of them. But the bounty escaped shortly after throwing out an electromagnetic weapon,” Drax explains, trying to hold the raccoon in a comfortable position.

Groot frowns and glances to Gamora and then to Quill, but wrinkles his tiny, cute face at Peter’s reaction.

Quill laughs aloud. “What was it you said to me, Rocket? Hm? Was it something like… Stupid should hurt?” he teases. The raccoon groans irritably again, and Peter laughs again. “Yeah, that was it. Stupid should **_hurt_**."

If Rocket could change his facial expression, he would be snarling right about now.

Stupid _**always**_ hurts, especially when you turn into a furry creature who could be mistaken for a stiff board because of an electromagnetic pulse.

* * *

 

Drax is a man of few words in the sense that he is very straightforward in his manner of thinking. If something irritates him, he will gladly let you know with either a serious talking to or the removal of your spine. With his friends, it tends to be the conversation rather than their murder.

Gamora is widely considered to be one of the deadliest people in the galaxy. She knows at least 88 ways to kill someone in the blink of an eye, 86 of which she has tried and has proved to be true. She’s an efficient fighter when need be, someone with an unwavering pride in her ideals and if you try to get her on your side in an argument, the chances are that you’ll lose that battle too.

But Gamora is truly incapable of one thing: cooking.

No one discovered this until the day Drax, who cooked for the team a good four or five days of a typical week (the other days they ordered takeout because they’re all lazy and Quill figures Drax could use a break), was on the receiving end of a sprained wrist. It had been caused in an accident that involved helping Rocket with giving the Milano’s thrusters a couple tweaks. That’s what happens when you salvage a ship out of a mostly wrecked one. Things break and are in need of repairs anyway, and this time it wasn’t just metal and alloy. It was Drax’s bone.

But this injury was nothing unusual to Drax. He’s suffered worse than this. This was almost nothing the brute hadn’t endured before, of course. But it was making his daily habits more difficult. But Rocket, the smug bastard, was practically glued to Drax’s side when he wasn’t sleeping or tending to Groot’s pot and talking to the flora colossus. He was always there if Drax needed to grab something from that required two hands or whatever Drax may need.

The raccoon’d remarked, “I gotcha into this mess. Might as well help ya out.”

He never did say that stupid should hurt like he’d said to Quill, and Drax appreciated that.

Nonetheless, Drax knew he was going to cook them their dinner for that night. Fighting and going about any missions the crew may have may be out of the question, but cooking for four is nothing this broken bone is going to stop.

Drax, however, didn’t anticipate that Gamora would already be attempting her take on dinner for that night when he entered the galley. The stench of something cooking was a hint that someone was already making some sort of meal, but no one could expect it was dinner. Rocket and Quill hadn’t taken initiative to cook at all, as they were going about their own business without another thought in mind.

Drax watches from the doorway as Gamora moves in a panic from side to side, trying to juggle cooking the meat from a freshly killed Trak (that’s what the vendor had said, anyways) while cooking the vegetation in another pan.

What she didn’t anticipate, though, was that the pan with the vegetables simmering inside was lit with a massive flame instead of being left to steam like it should be. And when it caught fire in a burst, Gamora had just put a seasoning of some sort (a complete guess that it would give it a better taste, of course) inside with her hand.

So of course Gamora was burned. In a flash, Drax twisted the flame off on the stove and smothered the pan down with a nearby lid with his uninjured left hand.

“Gamora?”

Gamora says nothing as she runs her hand under the faucet, looking to Drax with a frustrated look on her face.

Drax goes to say something, but a voice from a familiar raccoon in the doorway asks, “Who burned somethin’? **_Please_** tell me it wasn’t our dinner.”

Drax looks to Rocket, back to Gamora, and hears a familiar quote he’d heard Quill use ring loudly in his head.

“Stupid should hurt.”

Rocket ‘pfffts’ into one hand, scratching at the back of his head with the other, and manages to keep himself from bursting into a fit of laughter.

Gamora scoffs, rolls her eyes, and says, “I apologize for that, Drax. Should I order something for you and Rocket to pick up?”

Stupid _**always**_ hurts, especially when it’s caused by an open flame.

* * *

 

Some days later, Gamora feels she’s on a streak of bad luck. First there was the dinner incident (which everyone who experienced it has silently agreed to keep quiet about), and Drax’s comment that humiliated her just a tad. The next day, there was a dispute over where her beloved cloak had gone, only to discover a certain member of their dysfunctional family with fur covering every inch of his body had stolen it for reasons he did not wish to share. The day after that, Gamora nearly knocked Groot’s pot off the table and was given a very colorful talking to from the same raccoon who stole her cloak.

And today…? Nothing’s happened today. Not yet, anyways.

After their dinner the night she’d scalded her hand, Drax apologized profusely in private. “I understand it is a joke, but you did not seem pleased with it. May I make it up to you with an invitation to join me for dinner between the two of us?”

Gamora didn’t turn down the offer, and it wasn’t because she was thrilled at Drax’s proposed ‘date’. It was because she needed to get the hell off the Milano for a little while. Rocket can go have his highly illegal fun, she can go have an innocent dinner with Drax the Destroyer.

They picked a bustling place that specialized in all types of seafood from this planet’s many aquatic species, from strange-colored octopi to scaly, crustacean creatures varying in size and shape.

And for the most part, dinner was going smoothly. Gamora and Drax split one of the lobster-looking creatures with a blue, tough shell and savory meat on the inside. Gamora figured Drax could handle one of these all on his own and offered to order another, but he insisted it was fine.

The waitress, who went by the name Shalyn and was unbelievably perky for someone working in one of the busiest restaurants in this city, returned some time later to check up on them. “How is everything?”

“Fantastic,” Drax announces aloud despite his mouth being stuffed full with the seafood. “I do request another round of this boiled dip, though.” He holds up an empty bowl in reference, stained slightly yellow since it is a buttery mixture.

“Of course! I’ll be right back with that!” And she trots away, returning a few minutes later with the steaming, hot boat. “Here we are. But be careful. It was just made and-oh my gosh!”

Gamora blinks a few times just to be sure that the waitress had actually just done that, and it turns out this is reality. The dip Drax requested now lays in a thick, hot pond on the middle of the table. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. It was hot, I didn’t-”

Gamora holds out a hand. “Please, don’t worry. It’s fine. I will clean this-”

“Stupid should hurt,” Drax grunts.

The two women give Drax an appalled look, to which Drax laughs. “Yes! It is true!”

Shalyn wavers slightly, frowning and her brow knitting into a look of embarrassment. “I-I apologize. I’ll be back with towels,” she says, voice cracking with tears glistening in her eyes. And she does trot away this time. She trudges away miserably.

Drax’s smile fades. “Gamora, I do not understand. She did not laugh.”

“It’s not meant to be funny to other people, Drax. Only us on the Milano.”

Drax gives Gamora a genuinely surprised look. “No one else knows of that aside from you, I, Quill, and Rocket?”

Gamora shakes her head.

“Well,” the brute slouches slightly, face tightening slightly, “I am far more emberassed than she is, now.”

And that’s when Gamora took her chance. It was time to rid herself of this streak of bad luck, and Drax had given her the perfect opening.

“Well, Drax…” She reaches out and places a hand on his, looks him right in the eye with a smug smile tugging at her lips, and says it.

“Stupid should hurt.”

Stupid **_always_** hurts, even after Drax apologized to Shalyn and gave her a gracious tip.

* * *

 

Having a ship remade when it was once a mess of parts is bound to have bits that break. That’s already been established, as indicated by Drax’s accident when helping Rocket. However, fixing the thrusters wasn’t too big an issue since Rocket had the spare bits that were needed beforehand. It was a simple repair.

When this other household appliance on the Milano broke, it was apparent that they weren’t going to be able to simply fix it. And they’re far too expensive to be purchased, and since they’d blown practically all of their units from Nova’s pay on necessities but mostly unnecessary items and activities, it was apparent there was only one way of getting one.

They had to steal a _**toilet**_.

And that wouldn’t have been an issue if the facility didn’t have such a helluva security team that the group ran from for practically ten minutes straight.

“So much… for keepin’ us… in check, _**Quill**_ ,” Rocket, who’s flopped out on his back with his limbs spread out, pants miserably, body inflating and deflating dramatically with every heavy breath he takes.

“Don’t blame me!” Peter heaves. “We needed a new toilet. What are we… supposed to do?”

Rocket holds up a finger. “For once, maybe… we could’a… done that the- oh, **_fuck_** it. I gotta... catch my breath. Where’s… Groot?”

Drax emerges from the cockpit on shaky knees, flopping down into a chair, and Gamora soon follows suit behind him. “The plant is right here on the table. He’s awake, too.” He doesn't seem to be suffering like the others, but that might be because he's a literal mountain of a man.

Rocket rolls over onto his stomach and pulls his body across the steel floor toward Drax, making grabby hands. “Gimme… ‘im.” A second later, Drax hands off Groot’s pot to the raccoon, who rolls over onto his back again and rests it on his chest.

“Bud… that shit… was crazy,” the raccoon tells the plant.

Groot reaches out and rubs a tiny hand on Rocket’s black, wet nose, giving him a sad smile.

Gamora, who sits across from Drax and is just as exhausted as everyone else, folds her arms on the table and rests her head. She takes in a breath and says, “Course is set, Peter. To Demura we go. But might I say that was a _**terrible**_ plan.”

“Yeah, but…” Peter nearly trips and falls on his wobbly knees in his attempt to also take a seat at the table, but he manages to keep himself balanced. “We’re all… idiots for going along with it.”

Drax grunts. “You are _**the**_ imbecile, Quill, among us idiots, than. It was your plan.”

“Agreed.” Three pairs of eyes turn to where Rocket’s free hand slowly but surely pulls himself up and off the ground. “I… I really can’t even… believe we went along with it,” he remarks after sliding Groot’s pot across the table and attempting to pull himself up with two hands. But he can barely get himself up there.

“Can’t pull… yourself up, Rocket?” Peter grins. “Probably because you… eat so much.”

“Drax, help me.” A second later, after Drax pulls Rocket by his underarms and places him on the table, Rocket gives Quill the finger and pulls Groot’s pot back into his lap. “Suck it. I can’t do shit coz we just ran from their security for ten minutes without a break. My legs… could barely keep up.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Please, can we _**not**_ have an argument?” Gamora groans. “I’m getting a headache.”

“Agreed.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Silence falls over the four of them, and Peter looks around in anticipation. He only receives blank looks from the other four.

The green assassin breaks the silence with an annoyed, “What, Quill?”

“Who’s gonna say it?”

One of Rocket’s ears perk up in confusion. “Say what? That-”

“ _ **I am** **Groot!**_ ”

Drax, Gamora, and Quill all look straight down at the pot, where Groot gives a wide grin in their direction

Rocket blinks in surprise, looks down at the plant in the pot, and returns the grin Groot’s giving the others. “Guess it was Groot’s turn.” The raccoon gives Groot a light flick on his back.  “Welcome back, buddy.”

The sprig turns and gives Rocket a wide smile. “I _**am**_ Groot.”

Stupid **_always_** hurts.

But Groot’s bright grin and ecstatic cry of ‘I am Groot!’ mended their shared frustrations over a porcelain toilet immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> The last bit's inspired by the Guardians comic, "Best Story Ever." Kinda spoiled somethin', so, yes, they steal a toilet. That actually happens.
> 
> Also, Groot's great, isn't he?
> 
> Figured I should get this outta my system while I have the energy. I'm workin' on somethin' real dark next aside from Risky Business that's bein' called "I Think" for right now. It takes a lot outta me to write the sad/dramatic things, and this one hits a lot of chords and there's a lot of sad shit so far. And it's not even halfway through.
> 
> Comments are appreciated.


End file.
